. A beautiful day dawns. Four in the morning—it's still chilly. Dew covers everything. It drips from the leaves, sparkles in the grass. The freshness of the morning is stunning. The air is crystal clear, smelling of carefreeness and happiness. We're by the sea. A holiday resort—small camping cabins—situated in a rustling pine forest. The brown litter is covered with pine needles, full of pine cones. The first morning birds begin to sing merrily. Everyone's still asleep. It's July.
Finally! We're going to the beach! It's been so long since we've been here. First, a sandy path leads through the forest. The trees rustle, the heat begins to suffocate. Magnificent green ferns flaunt beneath the trees. Beachgoers in flip-flops tote beach screens, umbrellas, mattresses, and whatever else they have. We approach the dune. The moment draws near. A sort of inner joy slowly overwhelms us. The sand rustles underfoot, the sharp sea grass tickles the calves. Tiny spruces on the dunes create a cozy green labyrinth. THIS moment is near. We can already hear the rustle. We can already smell the sea, the scent of fishing boats, and something else undefined. It's there! We sit up in awe. After a year in the city, after a year of constant struggle with everyday life and with ourselves, we experience shock. So far, school, work, home. So far, a mountain of problems, misunderstandings, accusations, misunderstandings, and many other things from the arsenal of sadness.
A ship on the horizon. Not a cloud in the sky. There's the beach. People, colors, blankets, screens, umbrellas, squeals, laughter. Sea waves gently caress the shore. Children are building a castle, connecting the moat with the sea through a canal. Many are swimming. There are also seagulls – our old friends. They've been waiting here all year. Because winter doesn't exist here – there's only summer, and then another. The sapphire water shimmers with the sun. We can hear the unmistakable squawk of white, always cheerful birds. They're arguing over a piece of bread.
The sea. Seaside towns bustling with life, holidaymakers dressed in colorful costumes, resonating with music, and crowded with people snorting ice cream. The sea. We've been here before, but each time it captivates us with its vastness and mystery. Hot sand under our bare feet. The coolness and saltiness of the seawater. Being carried by the waves. Long voyages on cheerful white passenger ships. Wet and slippery stones washed by the waves. Shells and amber on the shore. I close my eyes. The rustle.
The port in Kołobrzeg, Darłowo, Ustka, or some other charming town. Cold and windy. A storm. Concrete quays, next to them the rescue ship "Typhoon." Like the others, buffeted by the waves. A lighthouse, behind it a concrete breakwater. Waves splash groaning against the stones. They pound furiously against the concrete. The wind keeps howling, its sudden gusts throwing us sideways. We walk to the pier. Rain is falling. A wooden structure, slimy planks. The sea is rough. Beautiful and menacing at once. The color of brown sand. White waves roll with a clatter. And again the port. The smell of fish, mud, ship fuel, and lubricants. No one. But we are. We sense the secrets of this place, carefully walking between the puddles so as not to disturb the spectacle. The rain is still pouring. Heavy, dirty clouds cover the sky. I close my eyes. A roar.
It's evening. A warm sea breeze. Quiet. I'm going to the beach. I've never seen such a peaceful and gentle reality. A cricket chirps in the grass, the sun barely above the horizon. I walk down to the shore. I pass the last strollers. A couple walks along the shore. Yes. I sit down on the sand. And I watch. Because watching is enough. The seagulls are still screaming, but they too are going to sleep. The sea is giving off the heat of the day. Waves are lapping at the shore. An orange ball is slowly sinking. Maybe someone is taking a photo. The streak of light on the water fades. A fishing boat returns from the hunt. It rattles monotonously. I close my eyes. Silence.
It's night. The moon is in the sky. Millions of stars reflect in the water. They twinkle merrily. The sea is already asleep. I can hear its faint breath. The scent of a unique moment hangs in the air. I shovel sand in my fist. I throw pebbles. I want to be here. I close my eyes. I see.
Amid the hustle and bustle of the city, amidst the crowds on the street—I walk with my memories. I will return there. I will return to those sunrises and sunsets, to those pine trees growing on the sand. I will return to ports tossed by waves and wind, I will return to piers stretching far out from the shore. I will return to the screeching of seagulls, the roar of forest and water. And once again, the power of the sea will embrace me. I will return there. I promise.
I will return to the sea. Why?
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